


Stirring Me Up

by redeyedwrath



Series: Sterek Tumblr Ficlets [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Businessman Derek, College Student Stiles, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redeyedwrath/pseuds/redeyedwrath
Summary: The best thing about the coffee in the Big Apple is definitely the place he buys it at. All the eye candy that regularly comes in to grab some coffee before a busy day at work is just an added bonus.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been in my drafts since January? So uh, yeah, I’m totally a motivated writer *coughs*

Coffee, Stiles decides, is the best thing to have been invented in the history of – well, everything really. Usually, he’d say it’s something like modern technology, but seeing as that isn’t what gets him through rough mornings, he decides that coffee is a pretty decent substitute.

The best thing about the coffee in the Big Apple is definitely the place he buys it at: a secluded café with ugly brown wallpaper and horrible reggae music, but hey, the chairs are comfortable and the coffee is black and caffeinated and that’s all Stiles can ask for with his measly student income. All the eye candy that regularly comes in to grab some coffee before a busy day at work is just an added bonus.

Not that the eye candy that works here is bad, Stiles is all for body positivity and such, but busty blondes have never really been Stiles’ type. Besides, Erica had taken one look – and probably a sniff – at him before telling him she had a boyfriend. He still shudders at the memory.

At least she gives him free coffee sometimes, when Stiles is grumpy because he hasn’t gotten laid in a month.

He gives her a half-smile in return and reaches a hand up to run it through his hair, walking over to the booths in the back. Erica once told him those were only for the regulars, but Stiles is the only one who actually sits there so he gets to pick the best chair.

The one at the back - hidden by a few withered-away plants and bad lighting - is the most comfortable as he decided a long time ago. He sighs as he sits down in it, his fingers absentmindedly tapping a pattern on the arm rest. If he could, he’d stay here forever, buried in soft cushions and the sound of Bob Marley, but college is a bitch so he only gets to spend half his day in here.

He grabs his bag, laying his college work out in front of him. There are papers everywhere and he’d rather eat them than do something with them, but he has to make his dad proud and actually get a college degree, which is so much more work than he thought it’d be.

He almost chokes when the vile taste of ink runs across his tongue, resisting the urge to spit into one of the abandoned flower pots. The ink drips down his finger as he picks up the pen he literally chewed to death, which, _ew_. Erica is laughing at him, her cackling echoing through the empty café. God, he hopes she dies a horrible and painful death.

The walk back to the counter might as well have been social suicide, and he’s glad there aren’t a lot of people around right now. Erica smirks at him and hands him a few tissues and he cleans his fingers first, a disgusting mixture of ink and saliva staining the paper. He opens his mouth to clean his tongue, the nasty flavor of it clinging to his poor taste buds and he feels horribly offended for some reason.

The paper sticks slightly to his tongue and he spits into the tissue, coughing as he tastes paper _combined_ with ink. He feels like he’s eaten a goddamn book.

“Nice going, Stilinski,” Erica smirks. He glares but he knows it’s ineffective when she laughs and pats his shoulder. He’s tempted to bite her hand off, but thinks better of it when he thinks of the disappointed – or disgusted, probably – face his dad would make. Also, trying to bite a werewolf isn’t a thing that ends well in general.

“Oh I’m going nicely,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows for effect, but Erica just rolls her eyes and hands him a glass of water. He gives her a grateful smile and chugs it down.

“You’re still paying for that.” He pouts at her. She snorts and rolls her eyes, picking at her painted nails.

“Have some mercy on the poorest student in NYC.”

“Not my fault you chew on your pens.”

“Not my fault I have ADHD.” That shuts her up. He feels a little guilty for pulling the ADHD card, which is a low blow, but he smiles at her like he just won the world cup for – for something. Which he did, technically, because not even Boyd – Erica’s boyfriend – can get Erica to shut up.

“Hello sir, how can I help you?” Erica suddenly says, leaning forward on the counter – someone needs to give her bigger and less leathery shirts, because _oh my god_ – and he snorts.

“Erica, I told you I’m not into BDSM shit like that,” he smirks and he thinks he can see her claws extending a little, breaking through the painted nails making a few flakes fall on the ground. She growls lowly at him and he frowns before turning around and he resists the urge to clutch at his chest, because Jesus Christ, _save him_.

The guy standing behind him as an eyebrow raised, a smirk on his lips and Stiles may have to retract his comment about not being into BDSM. And please, someone kill him because it looks like this stranger - who looks hot in a suit but who Stiles bets looks way hotter without - heard his conversation with Erica and it takes _everything_ in Stiles’ being to not turn into a flailing mess of limbs right now, which seems to be a permanent state anyway.

The guy brushes past him, his eyes lingering on Stiles for a minute – making Stiles whimper inwardly – before he turns to Erica and says, “A latte macchiato, please.”

“Coming up,” Erica grins before turning around and walking towards the kitchen. Stiles makes a face at her back, because she is _evil,_ so evil and no one can convince him otherwise. The stranger – with all his stubble and cheekbones and smirking bright eyes – barely spares Stiles a glance, whipping out his phone and furiously texting someone which gives Stiles _all_ the time to properly process the glorious man standing in front of him, because this is a lot to take in.

The guy’s leaning against a wall now, one hand in the pocket of his pants and the other pressing on the screen, the fabric of his pants bunched against one leg and stretched over the other and Jesus, those motherfucking thighs. Stiles can already feel his mouth start to water, what he wouldn’t give to have those thighs bracketing him as he fucked the guy into the mattress.

The guy suddenly looks up, nostrils flaring as he looks straight at Stiles and now Stiles _does_ flail, because of fucking course the guy is a werewolf. He flushes and grabs his own phone from his pocket, adjusting himself slightly in the process, anything to distract him from the hottest person Stiles has ever seen.

He pulls up his conversation with Allison, scrolling a bit through it and trying to surreptitiously check the guy out. Which he’s probably failing at miserably because Stiles is anything _but_ sneaky. Plus, the guy keeps glancing up at him and frowning.

He sighs, tapping the ‘ _camera_ ’ icon. He’s already embarrassed himself in front of the Hot Guy, so it’s not like it can hurt to take just a little picture of him and send it to Allison? It’s not creepy if it’s purely aesthetic appreciation, right?

Angling the phone _just right_ so that Hot Guy won’t notice him is harder than expected but, well, the guy’s a _werewolf_ and you can never be too careful when it comes to werewolves. Especially when they’re smoking hot. Like pretty much every werewolf ever.

Damn, Stiles knew there was a reason he wasn’t born as a werewolf.

He bites his lip as he taps the button, praying to whatever deity out there that Hot Guy hadn’t noticed him taking a picture because Stiles is pretty sure he’d be ripped in half.

**Allison:** _OMG STILES  
_**Allison:** _WHO TF IS THAT GUY_  
**Allison:** _DID YOU GET HIS NUMBER_

**Stiles:** _ALLY HE’S SO HOT PLEASE HELP ME I’M DYING_

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

Stiles swallows, peeking up through his eyelashes to find Hot Guy looming over him, scowl on his face. Oh God, he’s going to die. Stiles is going to _die_ and it’s not that Hot Guy’s face isn’t the worst thing to see when he breathes his last breath but he would really like to appreciate it just a little longer.

Also, he’d like to finish his degree.

“Uh,” he says, glancing away. “I might have?”

Hot Guy raises one terribly judgmental eyebrow and Stiles resists the urge to pull at his collar because _damn_ , is it hot in here or is it just him?

“I just do this thing with my best friend’s girlfriend and I send her pictures of hot guys I find and you’re like, underwear model levels of hot and _holy god please don’t kill me_.”

Hot Guy pulls Stiles’ phone out of his fingers with claws - actual claws, sweet Jesus - and frowns, presumably thumbing through Stiles’ conversation with Allison. Stiles swallows; most of those pictures are his, but what can he say? Stiles is just extremely gay sometimes.

“Well,” Hot Guy says, tossing Stiles his phone with a little smirk. Stiles scrambles over to catch it. Fucking werewolves. “The only hot guy I want pictures of is you, okay?”

Stiles is pretty sure he just died and went to heaven because he thinks Hot Guy just gave him his number and that’s so far out of the realm of possibilities that Stiles is actually dead. And in heaven. Because Hot Guy is _hot_.

“See you later, Stiles!” Hot Guy calls out with a wink, waving to Stiles with the hand that isn’t holding a coffee and Stiles takes a second to process Hot Guy saying his name because _hot damn_.

“Yeah! See you, uh-” He glances down at his cell to see Hot Guy’s name. “ _Derek_.”

Hot Guy - Derek - smirks and gives Stiles an obvious once-over before walking away, sipping his still steaming coffee. Stiles sighs and pretend his heart isn’t beating a mile a minute.

Fucking werewolves.

**Author's Note:**

> If I don't write as often as I have in the past few weeks because school and nervous breakdowns and stuff. Yay?
> 
> I hope y’all liked it! Please lemme know what you thought?
> 
> [Come to my Tumblr! You can see how gay I am here](http://demisexualhale.tumblr.com)


End file.
